


Hoards of Gold and Treasure

by RiniRhyme



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, storybook AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-07
Updated: 2012-07-07
Packaged: 2017-11-09 08:32:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/453466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RiniRhyme/pseuds/RiniRhyme
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Slaying dragons, saving princesses—these are things that all princes are wont to do and Prince Derek is no exception. Excepting for the fact that Stiles isn’t a princess and the dragon isn’t as vicious as it seems. </p><p>(AKA The storybook AU in which Stiles is trapped in a castle and Derek comes to his rescue.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hoards of Gold and Treasure

 

The first thing that Derek notices when he enters the dilapidated throne room is the giant hoard of gold and jewels in the center of the floor. It’s said that dragons guard their treasure religiously and can scent gold from up to two hundred paces away; but as far as he can tell, there’s no dragon around. The telltale scratch marks of claws and scorch marks that is typical of a dragon’s abode are nowhere to be seen.

Derek sheathes his sword. There’s nothing here besides that, the castle having been abandoned all too long ago and everything that he’s encountered is rotting. The once glorious looking seat that was the throne is a sad pile of mush and wood, only the backing of it still remaining, the seat having long collapsed in on itself.

The rumors are wrong. Besides the hoard of treasure, there is no dragon dwelling here. This must be a loot dump for thieves and they had spread the rumors to keep unwanted people out. He sighs internally; the other rumor that a princess is being held captive here is most likely wrong too.

It’s not that he’s apprehensive about meeting a princess or rescuing one; he does that nearly every week, with his mother and father eagerly waiting for him to announce which one he likes best to marry him off to. They set him up with princesses and other ladies of noble birth and those that are not, and on one memorable occasion, Prince Danny from one of the northern kingdoms because they had been so desperate for him to find someone to love. When that doesn’t work, they send him off on adventures—mostly on neighboring Queen Lydia’s requests—to rescue damsels in distress, hoping for him to not return alone. So far, Derek has only let them down.

He wants to meet a princess, or even a prince, or anyone really at this point, that he can say he truly likes, if only to stop his parents from interfering with his life any more than they do already.

Derek’s about to leave when he realizes something odd about the room.

There’s a heavy coating of dust over certain areas; next to the entrance where he came storming in, expecting a dragon and getting none. All around the corners and the dais where the throne sits, dust and cobwebs lay like snow. There’s a little door by the side made of plain wood that has long since rotted through that looks like a servants entrance. The dust there has been disturbed and from the looks of it, recently.

Of course, Derek thinks. Someone’s here. Who would leave such a massive treasure hoard alone and unprotected?

He unsheathes his sword and sidles through the door, taking every care to make as little noise as possible. He follows the trail through the east wing and up a long flight of stairs and by then, he’s wondering if there really is someone here or if he’s reading too much into dust motes.

He comes upon an open door to a large room, brightly lit with torches. It looks lived in, nothing here rotted and seeming quite at odds with the rest of the castle; bright colored clothes littering the floor, a huge armoire, a vanity table, and a giant four poster bed pushed up against the wall. Derek pauses when he notices the mess of clothes are dresses, but what stops him completely is a movement on the bed. Someone’s sleeping there, from the sound of it.

Perhaps a band of female thieves?

He steps noiselessly through the room, sword at ready and peels back the curtain of the bed to reveal a young man sleeping soundly. His brown hair is shaved down close to his scalp and he has neither full nor thin lips, though his complexion is pale, like he hasn’t seen the sun in years. Derek presses his blade to the young man’s chest, exerting some pressure, but not hard enough to even cut through the cotton tunic he’s wearing.

“Wake up,” he commands. The young man snorts, but remains blissfully unaware. “Wake up!” Derek yells this time.

The young man startles awake, nearly skewering himself on Derek’s sword. He stares from Derek, to the blade pinning him down, and back again.

“Uh, whatever it was, I didn’t do it.”

Derek can feel his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline; he had expected resistance, repentance, and restitution—not necessarily in that order. He shakes his head, calling his attention back to the matter at hand. “What are you doing here?”

The young man gives him a look. “No, the right question is what are you doing here? Although it’s been a really long time since I last saw a living person that didn’t brandish a sword at me, but actually, what am I talking about, you’re doing it right now. Do I look like someone who’s armed to the teeth and can stand up to something sharp and pointy? Yes? No? No! Seriously, don’t hurt me! Whatever it was, I swear that I didn’t do it!”

Derek’s not sure how to respond to that other than to sheath his sword. “I came here to investigate rumors about a dragon keeping a princess hostage.” He stares at the young man, eyes narrowing. “Clearly, they’re not true.”

The young man sits up in bed, the bed covers falling off to reveal that he’s only wearing the cotton tunic and nothing else. Derek looks away, seeing if he can locate pants in the room, but all he sees are piles and piles of dresses. Are these all his…? He gives the young man a suspicious look, but it’s completely ignored as the young man is stretching and yawning, allowing Derek to glimpse at the pale flesh and a trail of dark hair climbing from his nether regions. Definitely not a girl.

“Those rumors are true,” the young man says when he’s done with the yawn. “So true, absolutely true. Completely and utterly true. I’m Stiles, by the way. You said that you came here to investigate? Are you an investigator?”

Derek kind of wishes he never woke Stiles up. Stiles is clearly not a sentry for a gang of thieves and it doesn’t seem like he’s a thief himself. What’s he doing here, alone in a rotting castle with a mound of treasure?

“What are you doing here?” Derek asks again, impatient. Something in his expression must spook Stiles, since he starts to scoot away from Derek on the bed. He’s been told—often and frequently by his sister, his parents, his grandparents, his uncles, his aunts, his cousins, the neighbors, everyone that knows him—that he has a face that scares young children.

“I live here,” Stiles squeaks. “If anything, you are trespassing. The door’s over there and when you leave, don’t touch that pile of gold! It’s cursed. Or well, it’s not cursed, but the dragon’s not going to be very happy if you touch it.”

Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, feeling the heavy swirl of an oncoming headache looming in his future. He takes a seat on the bed, laying his sword over his lap in plain sight. “Tell me what you know. If you lie, I will gut you. And trust me, I’ll know if you lie.”

==

Derek sits through all of Stiles’ babbling, including a detour about fishing in a swamp, and sits there until the late afternoon sun is gone and the moon has risen. He is hungry, a headache pounding on his skull, and very much wanting to gag Stiles and never hear another word again. Possibly from anyone.

Throughout all of the talking, Derek had been able to discern a few things about the rumors surrounding the castle. There is a dragon, but Stiles refuses to disclose its location even on the pain of death, and since Derek can’t see the point of killing an innocent person, especially one who seems to know much about the abandoned castle, magnanimously allows Stiles to live. The princess has long since left, having struck a deal with the Witch Queen when she couldn’t wait for someone to rescue her any longer, and the room they’re in is the magically enchanted room that she had been kept in for many years.

“She was very beautiful, a bit on the short side, but her flawless, pearl skin and strawberry blonde hair—”

Derek groans and leans forward to whack Stiles upside the head. “So how did you end up here if there’s a dragon lurking around? They’re highly territorial and don’t take well to intruders.” He narrows his eyes at him. “Who are you?”

“I told you, my name’s Stiles. Well, that’s what everyone calls me anyway, my real name is embarrassingly horrifying, so.” Stiles lies flat on his stomach, face perched on his palms, kicking a leg up into the air, exposing his buttocks for all to see. “So. What about you? I still don’t know your name, Sir Investigator. Or if you are an investigator at all. Your sword looks expensive.” He eyes the jewels adorning the sheath with an almost hawk-like attention.

Derek rubs a hand over his face and slides the sword out partially, enough for Stiles to get the point that if he tried anything, Derek will personally cut off his fingers. It’s enough to get Stiles to draw back.

“Put some pants on,” Derek snaps.

Stiles looks down and he’s not even ashamed. “Oops,” he says and jumps off the bed, rummaging about on the floor presumably for pants. When he reemerges in Derek’s sight, he’s wearing a pair of plain brown trousers and Derek almost sighs. He’s not even sure why he feels the urge to sigh.

“So? Mister Sour Face? Who are you?”

“My name is not Sour Face. It’s Derek. I’m a knight,” he says waspishly. He wisely lets off the fact that he’s a prince; he really is a knight, having been knighted back when he was seventeen. His elder sister, Laura, had vehemently wanted to be a knight despite the fact that she’s a princess and princesses just aren’t meant to be knights. Their father indulged her, letting her practice the sword and do other knightly deeds. On the dot of her sixteenth birthday, she ran away and came back during Derek’s knighting ceremony, dressed head to toe in gleaming armor and a far better warrior than Derek was. But no one has to know that she can kick his bum six ways to next week and back again.

“Alright, Derek the Knight,” Stiles says slowly. “What are you doing in my humble abode? I haven’t seen anyone around these parts for ages and the last time I did, it was an army of soldiers trying to get past the dragon, but there may have also been a witch involved so all that did was get everyone turned into ducks. Who may or may not have been eaten by the dragon. It is a mystery that shall never be solved.”

“It wasn’t easy getting here either,” Derek snorts. Surrounding the castle is a vale of swamps and tar pits, the atmosphere dank and toxic with unnatural waste. It had been a long trek, a week or maybe more, for him to get through the denser part of the swamps, following a long abandoned road. Aside from the surroundings, predators lurked about in the darkness. “I will ask you again and this will be the last time I ask: what are you doing here? In this castle?”

Stiles blinks. “I’m here because…I live here,” he lies lamely.

Derek grips the hilt of his sword threateningly.

“I’m not scared of you or your shiny sword!” Stiles just about shrieks. “But I’ll tell you what you want to know anyways because I’m a very nice person. You see, when the princess left, she made a deal with the Witch Queen. In exchange for her freedom, she traded away her heart. The original witch that trapped the princess here got really mad and cursed me instead.” He shrugs. “I can’t leave the castle, at least, not until the curse is broken.”

Derek feels a bit of pity for him, abandoned and forgotten in this rotting castle. It’s like a tomb. Maybe that’s why he’s so chatty and slightly off his rocker. “How do you break the curse?”

“Like usual. Kill the one that put the curse on me, get her to voluntarily lift the curse, or true love’s kiss. Not very many options for me there to break it on my own,” Stiles says dejectedly. “The witch is so far away that I don’t even know where she is anymore, so no killing or talking to her on that part. And you’re the first person to come around here from morbid curiosity. Ever. So no true love’s kisses either.”

“Have you tried to get out?” Derek thinks and then tacks on: “recently?”

Stiles leaps off the bed, grabbing Derek by the arm, and dragging him out of the room, racing back the way that Derek came. It’s completely dark now, but wherever Stiles goes, the torches light up by magic. They race past the mounds of treasure in the throne room and to the courtyard steps. The torches at the side of the castle lights up, but there’s nothing to be seen there but dried grass and weeds with the occasional upturned pottery sticking out of the dirt. The heavy iron wrought gate, covered in rust and grime, is discarded on the ground from where Derek had knocked it down when he entered. The moon floats, half full in the sky.

“It’s been so long,” Stiles says, a manic look on his face. “Maybe the curse is gone? Geez, I haven’t tested this since the princess left and I don’t even know how long ago that was.”

He gives Derek a look and steps out onto the dried grass, eyes wide and breathing coming out in puffs of air. “It could be gone. It can be. I wouldn’t notice because I never come out here anyway. What do I do if it’s gone? I can go out again. I can go places!”

He’s shaking, probably from fear or excitement, and Derek follows Stiles out onto the grass.

“Go.”

Stiles gulps audibly and walks out to where the gate had once stood, raising a shaking hand. He reaches out, extending his elbow. At first there’s nothing and Stiles shuffles forward more when his fingers hit the barrier, sending a bright crackle of light and energy rocketing out of nowhere.

“Nope! Nope, nope, nope!” Stiles yelps, scrambling backwards clumsily and holding his singed fingers to his chest.

Derek grabs at Stiles’ elbow before he falls flat on his face and rights him on his feet. “Come on, let’s get inside before anything outside wanders in.”

He’s silent for a bit and Derek gives him his peace. “Nothing wanders in,” Stiles says softly, after a while. “Nothing ever wanders in.”

Derek isn’t sure how to respond to that, so he doesn’t. He grabs Stiles’ elbows, pushing him back towards the stairs, retracing their steps back into the castle. On their way through the throne room, Derek sweeps a long look around and still finds no traces of a dragon, not even a small one. There’s a deep gouge in the side of a wall that he had previously missed, but dust settles in the grooves, untouched for a long time. The shining mounds of gold on the ground is undisturbed. Why isn’t there a dragon here, nesting close to its hoard?

“I know they’re pretty. Don’t touch them,” Stiles speaks up, following Derek’s eyes. “It’s not worth it.”

Derek scoffs.

“I don’t want them,” he replies and shifts his gaze to Stiles. Something isn’t adding up here; where is this mysterious dragon? Never has there been a record of a dragon leaving its treasures behind. He leans down to inspect a golden locket strewn across the top of a small mound of coins and jewels. “What are you hiding?” he asks, half a threat and question, all of it aimed at Stiles. His sword is a solid weight at his hip, ready to be drawn at a moment’s notice.

“I’m not hiding—” Stiles stops instantly, eyes wide when he catches sight of Derek. “Don’t! I’m not kidding, you do not want to touch that, bad things happen, very bad things! I swear, one moment I start thinking you’re kind of a decent person, then the next you’re doing something stupid and crazy! Don’t touch anything! How many times do I have to say it? What kind of knight are you if you can’t even follow directions?”

“What will happen if I touch it?”

Stiles makes a frustrated noise. “I keep telling you, the dragon’s not going to like it! He’s going to be angry and he’ll fry you to crisp!”

Derek stills his hand. Stiles is breathing heavily, nostrils flared; he’s pale in the torchlight and the cupid bow of his mouth is drawn tight as he watches Derek. Derek stands and marches over to the gouge in the wall where four long streaks have been clawed at. He splays his hand over it, measuring; with a bit of stretching, the tip of his thumb and pinky are able to reach across the widest part of the marks. There’s no doubt that a dragon made this, the claws going too deeply into the stone for it to be mistaken for another creature. But the marks are small, not large enough for a full grown dragon.

Oh. He looks over at the biggest mound of treasure that he can spot in the room. “I see,” he says. He looks back at Stiles.

“What?” Stiles raises his chin defiantly.

“I thought you didn’t want me to fight the dragon because you were afraid that I’d lose. That’s not true.” He’s rewarded when Stiles freezes up, pale face going paler by the moment. He opens his mouth to speak, but instead ends up gaping like a fish. “You’re protecting the dragon.”

Stiles moves his mouth, as if trying to speak, but no sound comes out. For the first time ever, Derek finds Stiles speechless and he mentally congratulates himself on his great insight. Everyone assumes that he’s not the sharpest knife around and while it’s true that he’s not, he’s far from being the dullest.

“I’ll—” Stiles takes in a stuttering breath, hands splayed wide in front of him. “I’ll tell you, so please don’t do anything stupid.”

Derek gives him a blank look. “I figured out what you’re protecting and you’re still calling me stupid.”

“Well,” Stiles pauses. “Yes. Because you’re stupid for coming here on a rumor, stupid for being ready to take on a dragon by yourself, and stupid thinking that a princess would even be here! And you were just going to touch the gold even though I told you not to! Why are you still here? Why haven’t you run off yet? Or better yet, why haven’t you run me through with that sword of yours?”

“Trust me,” Derek growls. “I am very tempted to put a sword through you right now. Stop calling me stupid and shut up.”

“Er, okay,” Stiles agrees squeakily. “But I have to mention, your face is going to be stuck in a permanent sour face look if you don’t smile some time.”

Somehow, Derek manages to not smirk and scowls instead, stepping into Stiles’ space. “Shut up.”

“Right, right, shutting up—” Stiles steps backwards, flails, and trips right into a pile of coins, scattering them everywhere. For a moment, neither of them move, Derek not sure what to expect and Stiles just gapes with his mouth and eyes wide open, like he’s unsure of what’s just happened. “Oh, oh no,” he groans just as the biggest mound of treasure in the room moves.

Derek sees the tail before he sees the body, a large brown, scaly thing crawling out of the gold. The dragon that appears is nowhere near as big as it would be fully grown, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t big. Its neck is as long as Derek’s arm and then some, the size of its flat, serpentine head is bigger than his torso. It’s the as big as large horse—a very large one—and its golden eyes gleam wickedly in the light of the torches. It roars, a deep screeching sound that sets Derek’s teeth on edge, and in the back of its throat, he can see sparks of fire.

He has his sword drawn, ready for it to charge at him. It’s not the first time he’s faced down a dragon and he’s confident he’ll win, but instead of looking to him, the dragon changes course for Stiles, nothing but a blur in Derek’s vision.

“No, no, no,” he hears Stiles’ panicked voice over the cacophony of adrenaline and deafening dragon roars. He raises his sword, ready to cleave down onto the dragon’s neck when Stiles jumps in front of it, using his body as a shield, and Derek cuts into his arm in surprise. He jerks his sword away as fast as he can, heart hammering at his throat, but the damage is already done.

The dragon is instantly zoning in on Derek, jaws snapping and ugly claws extended, using its huge body to shield Stiles from view. Somehow, through all this, Derek understands that Stiles and this dragon are friends. If Stiles can end up with a curse that’s typically aimed at princesses, then of course he’s befriended the dragon. Of course.

The dragon rears up, fire crackling in its breath, herding Derek away from Stiles.

“Stop! Scott, stop it!” Stiles yells, jumping in between the two of them despite the fact that Derek nearly skewered him again and the dragon snapped its jaw shut with an audible gulp, the fire extinguished. “Derek! Stop! Put your sword away. Scott, stop rampaging. I’m fine.”

The dragon—Scott, as it’s weirdly named—settles down and stares viciously at Derek, its head swiveling from Stiles’ bleeding wound and back. It snaps its jaws at him before butting its head against Stiles’ good arm. It rumbles something deep in its throat and Stiles pats its snout. “Go back to sleep or something, I’ll clean up,” he says. He looks down at his arm and sways, face pale as a sheet and trembling all over. “Oh. I hate blood.”

Derek manages to catch him before he falls.

Scott glares at him furiously and Derek glares back.

==

Derek wakes up slow, feeling warm and lethargic and wanting to crawl back to sleep, something that he doesn’t do unless exhaustion sets in bone-deep. He blinks at the early morning sunlight peeking in through the high window and turns to look at the other side of the bed. Instead of being where he was tucked in the night before, Stiles is curled up next to Derek on the bed, still slumbering away, soft snores punctuating the air.

He had taken care of the wound on Stiles’ arm, having shredded one of the random dresses lying around to use as a makeshift bandage. The cut isn’t deep, Derek managing to cull his strength at the last moment and pull away, but the damage is done. He cleaned it as well as he could and bandaged it. The whole time he was taking care of the cut, Stiles never woke up once, not even a peep. Now, Stiles is sleeping easily, relaxed and boneless. He’s very surprised that Stiles is quiet in his sleep.  

Derek sits up in bed and leans over, pushing up the sleeve to the cotton tunic and undoing the bandage to get a better look at the cut. It’s no longer bleeding, he’s cleaned it well—there will be no infection and with time, it will heal. Overnight, it’s already began to scab over.

Stiles makes a high pitched whimpering noise when Derek runs the pad of his finger over the smooth skin underneath the scar.

“If you’re awake, you might as well get up,” he says, throwing the dirty bandages to the side. “Lift your arm.” He grabs several clean strips of cloth that he prepared last night and set about to rewrapping Stiles’ arm.

“Why did you have to choose the purple one?” Stiles’ tone of voice is full of dismay and when Derek glowers at him, the line of conversation changes. “I’m kind of surprised that Scott didn’t eat you last night. Why are you helping me? Is this because you’re a knight?”

Derek swats the side of Stiles’ head and goes back to wrapping the bandage. Maybe he should have just let Stiles pretend to be asleep, if just to appreciate the morning tranquility for a bit longer. “Not all knights are noble and chivalrous,” he mutters, finishing the job and running a hand absently over the ruined silk. “Just like how not all people trapped in towers are princesses.” If he wasn’t so close, he would have missed Stiles’ sharp intake of breath.

“Sure,” Stiles says. “Your bedside manners are horrible. Is this how you’re going to treat your future wife?” He’s looking at Derek, warm brown eyes soft with sleep with a twinkle of mischievousness. It makes Derek want to trace the exact shape of them into his mind, remember the colors forever. He forces himself to blink and goes back to staring at the bandage, wrapped securely over Stiles’ arm. “Smack them in the head and charm them with your sour face, Sour Face?” Stiles grins, oblivious to Derek’s thoughts.

“I am very charming,” Derek says, rolling down Stiles’ sleeve and slapping the area where the bandage is just because he can. He gets a yelp of pain as a result.

“A brute! You’re a brute!”

“Don’t be stupid.”

He’s forgotten, somehow, in between the growing up and being a prince, how it feels to enjoy the moment. He hasn’t felt this light in years. Maybe it’s the restful sleep that he had, or maybe it’s the fact that there’s no expectations of him here, no gargantuan task that he needs to undertake and accomplish. He’s just here, in this castle where the occupant isn’t a princess and the dragon isn’t an enemy, sort of. Or maybe it’s because Stiles’ chatter makes him want to smile. He resolutely doesn’t, of course.

“I really do want to know though,” Stiles gets up into sitting position, laying his head onto his knees and staring straight at Derek unblinkingly. “Why aren’t you gone yet? There’s no princess here and uh, well, there is a dragon, but please don’t kill him. He’s my only friend here.”

Derek stares back at Stiles, who seems to have stopped breathing in anticipation for the response. He can say anything, admit to anything—he thinks Stiles might be growing on him, strangely enough, or say that he feels terrible that Stiles is trapped here alone with only a dragon for company. Instead, he says: “I hurt you.”

Somehow, Stiles seems disappointed by the answer. “Oh. Okay,” he says in a tiny voice.

He’d recognize that tone of voice anywhere—it’s the same tone of voice Laura used to use when they were younger and their father told her she wasn’t allowed to go hunting because she’s a princess. It’s the tired resignation of someone who doesn’t want to fight or argue and it makes Derek huff a violent breath of air unconsciously.

Stiles’ eyes narrow marginally. “What?”

“You’ve been stuck here for a long time,” Derek says, heart thudding wildly against his chest for no particular reason. He flashes back to the night before, when he had sliced into Stiles’ arm on accident and how it had made his gut clench, but quickly banishes those thoughts from mind. “If Queen Lydia didn’t send me here, no one would have found you. I’m sure she’ll want me to help you, royalty or not. So I’m here to help you and I’ll personally escort potential…people to help you break free of the curse, if I need to. I’m not—I’m not going to leave.”

At the name of ‘Queen Lydia,’ Stiles gets a strange look on his face. “How did she know I was here?” Stiles asks. “Is she your queen? Is she well? How old is she?”

Derek raises an eyebrow, annoyed that Stiles seems to have zoomed past his mostly true declaration of his intentions to focus on extraneous details. “She collects rumors of dragons and trapped princesses,” he snaps, and now in retrospect, is an odd hobby to have. But Stiles still isn’t paying him any attention and is listening raptly about information about Queen Lydia. “She is not my queen and she’s old,” he bites out reluctantly. “With grey hair and wrinkles.”

He may or may not have been more vicious with his words then and Stiles is reeling back, looking like a wounded puppy.

“Did I say something wrong? I just wanted to know how you came by here in the first place. You know, since no one ever comes by.”

“No.”

Derek can’t even explain to himself why he’s so upset. He rises from where he’s sitting on the bed and grabs his sword from where he had set it against the wall and straps it back on to his waist. He’s only finished putting his boots on when Stiles scrambles out of the bed, falling onto his elbows in his haste.

“Wait! I thought you said you weren’t going to leave!”

So he was listening. Derek chances a look over.

Stiles is frowning at him, confused and mouth parted like there’s more words that needs to be said, but he can’t find his voice. Derek reaches over, pushes that hanging jaw close and watches in fascination as Stiles’ face turns a bright red.

“I’m not leaving. I need to go pack up camp and find food and water. This place is severely lacking in sustenance and I’m assuming that you don’t need to eat thanks to the curse.”

Stiles’ posture relaxes at that. “Oh. Well, that’s alright. But there’s a magical pitcher that refills with clean water when it’s all gone.” He leaps at the vanity table where a crystalline pitcher sits and Stiles picks it up, shoving it at Derek. “Here! See? Never ending supply of water!”

Water splashes all over him instead and Stiles freezes, hands still around the pitcher.

Forget being fond; Derek kind of wants to wring Stiles’ skinny little neck out of irritation.

==

Camp isn’t far away from the decrepit old castle. It’s near a grove of dead trees, but far away from the poisonous bogs that litter the area. Derek’s things are still there, untouched, thanks to the wide circle of wolfsbane that he’s planted around his camp. It keeps away the weaker creatures, but should something stronger, more powerful—like dragons or foxes—happens by, the wolfsbane would be powerless.

Stiles had watched him go from the gates, as far as he’s able to get without the barrier hurting him. He was uncharacteristically silent and Derek doesn’t even need to ask to know that Stiles isn’t expecting him back. Scott had been lurking in the background, emitting a constant warning growl, reminding Derek that it is very much free to leave the castle and hunt him down if it wished. He had just bared his teeth back at the dragon and patted the sword at his side. He’s taken on dragons before, ones that have larger teeth and bigger bodies than Scott.

It’s strange that a dragon would befriend a human and even listen to one. Dragons can’t be tamed, no matter what the magicians say—they’re far too clever and live much longer than humans do. When Derek gets back, he’s going to drag out the story about Scott from Stiles, one word at a time if he has to. If it turns out that the dragon poses a threat, Derek’s going to chop off its head, no matter what Stiles says. Better safe than sorry.

He checks his food supplies first and is glad that he had carefully calculated how much he had brought, thinking there would be someone to save. There’s little to no chance of hunting around these parts; perhaps a stray jackrabbit or other small game, but Derek hasn’t seen any since he’s gotten off the highroad and entered the swamplands.

“What is your purpose here?”

Derek whirls around, sword drawn and pressed to the throat of a young man—a boy, really, from the looks of it—before he realizes what he’s doing. A lifetime of training keeps his nerves at bay and he takes the sharp edge away from the boy’s throat, but he keeps the sword drawn. It’s too suspicious: what’s a random person doing out here in the middle of nowhere?

“Why are you here?” Derek asks, keeping his tone low, watching as the boy steps over the wolfsbane like it’s nothing. Even humans feel a little something, usually just a sharp pinch, but the boy doesn’t even react. “Are your parents around?”

The boy makes a frustrated noise and for a moment there, his brown eyes flash golden.

“Why are you so stupid?” the boy snaps and that attitude and word choice reminds Derek strongly of Stiles.

Derek stares at the boy, at the floppy brown hair and the almost copper color of his skin. The clothes he’s wearing are nearly identical to the tunic and trousers that Stiles had been wearing.

“Scott,” Derek grits through his teeth. He doesn’t know how or why the dragon has a human shape, but he’s not very pleased about this development. When he gets back, Stiles will tell him everything. Everything and there will be no omissions of facts, no lying, just cold hard truths.

“Yes, who else could it be?” Scott snarls, rolling his eyes impatiently. “What is your purpose here, Derek?” Scott says his name like a curse.

Derek turns back to packing away his things, shoving his sword back into its sheath. Of course the dragon’s getting overprotective of Stiles like a mother wolf. Of course the dragon has a name and can assume the form of a human. Derek wonders if he’s dreaming this up and he’s actually still at home, having been drugged to sleep or something. Almost everything that he’s ever known about dragons is being tossed out the proverbial window. The fact that they’re dangerous and hoard gold and jewels are the only two rules still holding up under all the strangeness that’s going on.

“I’m not here to cause anyone harm,” Derek says with a glare, “so calm down. I’m only here to help.”

“I would have roasted you if I thought you were going to hurt him.”

Derek really wants to throttle someone. “What are you doing here?” he asks.

Scott gives him the ‘you’re so stupid’ look again. “Making sure you get back safely. For some odd reason, Stiles actually likes you.”

==

The first thing he says to Stiles upon his return is: “I can’t stay.”

Stiles just stares, mouth hanging open in what’s probably shock and Scott is there, growling menacingly, having turned back into a dragon to avoid talking to Derek any more than he had to.

“Wh-what do you mean you can’t stay?” Stiles asks. “I thought you said you weren’t leaving, not that I mind you leaving, of course not, it’s going to be boring stuck here with me and Scott and nothing to do, but if there’s something wrong, you know you can tell me right? Whatever it is, I can fix it and maybe then you can stay a bit longer and—”

“I can’t stay here if I’m going to help you,” Derek interrupts. “No one knows that you’re here. No one knows that you exist. I will need to go back home and report this to the king.”

“Oh. Oh, well, yes, that makes sense, I suppose,” Stiles says, awkwardly shifting his weight around on his feet. “That means you’ll be back, right?”

Derek raises an eyebrow. “I came back this time. The next won’t be any different.”

Stiles smiles. “Right, then. I’ll hold you to it.”

Derek does his best to not smile back. He needs to stop feeling so attached.

==

He stays for two days, surveying the castle and on the third, he decides to do something about the condition it’s in. There’s some parts that are less damaged than the rest, having withstood the weather and time better, but due to the lack of maintenance on it, looks just as dilapidated and disgusting as the rest of it. He makes Stiles clean and the one time he tried to get Scott to do something useful other than shadow him around like an oversized lizard assassin, Scott had launched himself back onto his gold pile and closed his eyes, snoring away almost immediately.

“Why are we doing this?” Stiles moans as he scrubs at the floor where the grand hall stands. It’s right at the entrance of the castle and while there isn’t much of a roof or four walls, it’s usable as a place for welcome when Derek starts bringing people over to help Stiles in breaking the spell. Whenever he thinks about it, it makes Derek’s chest contract and his blood go cold. He’s really not looking forward to it, but he’s made a promise to help. What kind of knight—what kind of person—is he if all he wants to do is keep Stiles for himself?

For one, he’s certain that Scott will eat him alive, or at least attempt to. Derek has no plans to be defeated by a dragon that’s not even fully grown yet. That’d just be embarrassing; Laura would laugh at his corpse and then go to his grave and laugh some more.

“When I come back,” Derek says with a grunt as he hefts some heavy debris out of the way, “we’re going to need a place to greet and welcome people. No matter how shoddy this place is, there should be somewhere that people can meet and the only livable place is your bedroom.” That would be the most inappropriate place for a meet and greet.

“We have a throne room,” Stiles says, moving on from floor scrubbing to yanking at weeds sprouting from between the stone walls. “Why can’t we use that?”

Derek stops what he’s doing and gives Stiles a look, which gets Stiles to duck away, hiding his face.

“Okay, terrible idea, agreed,” Stiles says. “But why are we doing this? Why can’t they just pitch up camp like you did? Outside? Or even the courtyard?” Derek moves, but not back to work, instead going over to stand next to Stiles. Stiles, still determinedly not looking up from where he’s tugging at the persistent weed, doesn’t even notice.

“I don’t think it’s going to rain any time soon and besides, they’ll have tents. Tents are good at keeping the weather out, surprisingly. Wait, will they have tents? What kind of people are you going to bring, Derek? I think only nobility travels with tents or something, since they’re too uppity to sleep on the ground and see the big outdoors or something. Must be allergic to nighttime. Huh, I wonder why. I wonder if the witch will come if she hears about all the commotion. I doubt it. Scott tried to hunt her down a while ago—most boringest time I have ever spent, ever!—but he couldn’t find her. It’s like she magically disappeared out of existence, but she’s still alive since this stupid curse is still holding. It kind of sucks. But this sucks too. Why am I weeding? Derek?”

Stiles turns and Derek belatedly realizes that he’s very close in Stiles’ space, but he doesn’t move at all, even at Stiles’ tiny gasp of surprise.

“I’m doing this for you,” he says.

Stiles’ eyes are wide and his tongue darts out to wet his lips, coating them in shining saliva. It takes a moment for Derek to realize that Stiles isn’t maintaining eye contact, but then again, neither is he.

“I don’t want to kiss strangers,” Stiles says, voice cracking in between his words. “I—I don’t, I just want—”

Just like that, Stiles falls silent, blush running up his neck and to the tip of his ears. He’s wringing his hands frantically, but his eyes are stuck in the direction of Derek’s chin.

“What do you want?” Derek asks and when Stiles opens his mouth to answer, Derek leans forward and kisses him.

It’s fumbling and awkward and sloppy, but Stiles slots perfectly against Derek in a way that no one ever has. When Stiles moves his head away to gasp for breath, Derek follows, chasing that mouth and Stiles moans, hands scrabbling at Derek’s shoulder for purchase.

“Oh—” Stiles moans when Derek nips at his bottom lip, not hard enough to draw blood, but definitely making it swollen and red. “Oh, oh, jeez, you should have warned me—” His breath hitches when Derek pushes him against the stone wall, pressing their bodies together. Stiles is half hard against his hip and Derek doesn’t think he’s that far behind. He’s glad he’s out of his more embarrassing stages of youth where his dick never seemed to listen to him. Now, he has more control. Slightly.

“Derek,” Stiles keens, rutting up against him and Derek presses their mouths together into a filthy, tongue laden kiss. When he pulls back, Stiles’ pupils are blown wide, making his eyes almost black. “Wh-why’d you stop?” he asks, breaths coming out in pants and Derek decides he likes Stiles looking debauched like this.

“If I don’t stop, I’d take you. Right here,” Derek whispers into Stiles’ neck, enjoying the feeling of Stiles’ full body shudder against him. He presses a kiss at the juncture below Stiles’ ear and is rewarded with a gratuitous thrust of hips against his own.

“I’m not complaining,” Stiles squeaks. “Oh, am I so not complaining, oh—Gah! Scott!”

Stiles straightens up so quickly, his head ricochets off of the wall he’s pinned to and smacks forward into Derek’s nose.

“Ow,” Stiles groans, holding his head and Derek glares at the offending dragon, ignoring the pain in his nose.

Scott huffs a small ring of smoke and heads back inside the castle, the smug bastard. Maybe when Stiles isn’t looking, Derek will lop off its tail. Rumor has it that it’ll grow back. With time.

“He means well, don’t kill him, Sour Face,” Stiles says, patting Derek’s arm. “He’s like…the protector of my virtue. Or something. He really doesn’t need to be!” He yells the last part out loud enough that probably everything in the world with ears heard. “So why the sour face, Sour Face?”

Derek rolls his eyes and tugs Stiles away from the grand hall and out into the courtyard. In the daytime, it’s less ghastly looking, but still dead and silent. The gate is still on the ground, unmoved, and there’s starting to be a trail through the dead grass where Derek had been walking in and out of the castle.

There’s a terrible pit in his stomach, looking at the innocuous exit. He can go through it with no problem, but Stiles—

Stiles.

Stiles is staring at the space where he had stood several nights ago, when he had been pushed back by the barrier. He’s worrying his bottom lip between his teeth, brows furrowed together in a frown.

Derek gives Stiles a shake, jolting him out of whatever thoughts he’s having. From the looks of it, they’re probably thinking the same thing: would Derek break the spell?

Stiles takes in a deep breath and walks out to the edge, his eyes off into the distance before coming back to focus on Derek. “I really like you,” he says and huffs in a deep breath. “I don’t know if it’s love or what, but I really like you and if this doesn’t work I think I’ll be inconsolable forever and Scott will cook you alive and I’ll be even worse then, but I want this to work, I want to go out, I want to leave. I don’t want to stay here anymore.”

Derek wants to say something too, but he doesn’t have any words to say. He wants to tell Stiles it’ll be alright; that even if they weren’t meant to be, he’ll still help Stiles break the curse. He’ll search the world for Stiles’ perfect person if he needs to. 

“Go,” he says, motioning at the empty expanse of grass and dense thicket outside the castle walls.

Stiles sighs deeply, nods at Derek, and then turns to the barrier.

He stretches his arms out, moving forward slowly until his fingertips brush against the barrier, dragging up crackling blue light. Derek’s heart breaks a little at that—it didn’t work! 

But Stiles doesn’t withdraw or pull back, rather, he digs his fingers in as if he could tear through it and just like that, the barrier scatters. For a moment, Derek can see the dome-shaped barrier that encompassed the castle fall to pieces and blow away in glittering blue shards.

“It’s gone,” Stiles says after a long moment of staring. He’s still in the same position as he was, fingers still outstretched into nothing.

Derek steps beyond the walls and motions for Stiles. “You should see the outside of your hideous castle,” he says.

Stiles laughs shakily, and comes. 

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic ever! I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I have enjoyed writing this. Any comments or critiques will be very much appreciated. Thank you!


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